Tic Tac Toe
by thisisforyou
Summary: Sequel to Draw Me A Star but reading that first not necessary. Yes, Ladies and Gents, Juliette Clearwater is back! And this time it's real. It's not a game. Or is it? HIATUS
1. Meetings

**A/N: If you're here because you read **_**Draw Me A Star**_**, this story's prequel, welcome back! If you're here because you thought the title was interesting, or some other reason, welcome and enjoy your free metaphorical cookie. It's true: the Dark Side really does have it good. You can now visit my profile and read the prequel if you wish, but it doesn't really matter. You can read this first then decide. The premise of this one is, in my opinion, more believable than the last one for those of you who disliked it. **

**WARNING: I have a sick, twisted, borderline-schizophrenic mind so this may become a little graphic and I might even play with eroticism later (I'm not too sure about that one though) so this story is not for the faint-hearted. Or –stomached. I was on the bus this afternoon and a baby was dribbling on me and when smiling at it became awkward I let my face fall back into its brooding expression. "What are you thinking about?" the mother asked me. "You look sad."**

"**Serial killers," I replied truthfully. She gave me a terrified look while the baby gurgled delightedly and dribbled some more. "Hey," I said reasonably, "at least I didn't say pedophiles."**

**She moved away. Slice of life for the day. OK. On to the story now. Enjoy!**

**-for you!**

**

* * *

**

The park bench was in an unusual place. It wasn't really that the place itself was unusual; it had all the characteristics of a place that you would expect to hold a park bench. The bench perched on the edge of a green slope rolling down to a private-looking rose garden. The shouts of happy children filled the air, drifting whimsically from a nearby adventure-playground. What was unusual about the position of the bench was that it did not face the fragrant rose garden; it was firmly orientated to look out in entirely the opposite direction, over the road. Cars passed occasionally, casting odd glances at the two people sitting on the bench, obviously wondering why a man and a woman would choose to sit on a park-bench with such a romantic view of the road.

The man on the bench was wondering the same thing. "Tabitha Josephine Licroft," he said, in as stern a voice as he could muster, "what are we doing here?"

Tabby looked at him. "Peter Jonathan Rundle," she replied, doing, she thought, a much better stern voice than he had, "If you were aiming for authoritative, you missed." Peter rubbed the back of his bald head ruefully. Tabby grinned; she knew he'd noticed she was avoiding his earlier question. _She_ didn't know why they were there, except that they had time to burn and she had thought the poor bench deserved to have someone sit in it and enjoy the view. She told him so.

"Tabby, don't you think we've got better things to do than sit here and pretend to enjoy watching cars drive past?"

She gave him a cynical look. "We're in the police. All we have to do is stare at the drivers creepily and we can tell Henzell we were doing our job. All we _ever_ do is intimidate people."

Peter returned the look. "Sometimes I wonder if you really take your job seriously."

"And I'm not even the joker of the two of us," she replied nonchalantly. She smiled at him winningly. "We're a right pair."

He put an arm around her shoulder. "Well," he replied, "we're certainly not a wrong pair."

She poked him in the ribs and his arm withdrew _pronto_ . "Careful," she teased, "or I'll tell Henzell you're breaking policy."

He smiled. "Ooh, I'm scared."

She poked him again. "You're always scared. I saw your face during that movie last night. You call yourself a policeman. No wonder you were 'sick' when Audrey and I watched that Mel Gibson flick… what was it called? _Conspiracy Theory. _That one scared the heebie-jeebies out of me."

He shuddered. "If it scared you into saying something that pathetic, imagine what it would have done to me. You saw me last night. I was ready to run away screaming."

Tabby absently watched a car go past. "It was the haircut."

Peter snorted. Men with high foreheads and chin-length curls were a standing joke between them since the college student they'd interviewed on their first case together. Peter had been in a good mood, which was always dangerous when he was interviewing witnesses. The boy had responded by raising his eyebrows and making a face that made Tabby fear for her safety and lead the team in completely the wrong direction for a while. Only a serial killer, she had argued, could make a face like that.

She laughed as she remembered Henzell's face. Detective Inspector Henzell was the leader of their little task force, with her and Peter slaving tirelessly under his hand. He was a hard taskmaster, and rarely understood the crazy little thing Tabby and Peter called 'humor'.

_Mustang Sally_ broke through the steady rumbling of the cars in front of them. "That's your phone," Tabby prompted after a while.

"I know," Peter assured her. "I'm enjoying the song." Tabby rolled her eyes and tackled the older man, eventually pulling the cellphone from his pocket.

"Licroft."

"Where's Rundle?" Henzell's voice was brief and slightly nasal.

"Right beside me, sir. He… didn't feel like answering." Henzell sighed.

"Sometimes I don't understand you two. Get down here as fast as you can."

Excitement throbbed through Tabby's veins and she was unable to keep it from her voice. "They're here?" Peter sat up.

"Large as life and twice as beautiful," the officer said wryly. "You'll like them. I don't know what _they're_ laughing about either."

* * *

Spencer Reid pushed urgently through the crowd, panic rising in him like the wall of noise falling on his ears with each frantic step, his movements becoming more and more frenzied as the crowds seem to thicken visibly around him, pressing elbows into his stomach and faces into his sights until he could no longer see his destination, fighting blindly to get to the door.

Once inside the cool white of the bathroom, Reid took deep breaths, the blind panic starting to fade. He didn't know why he had agreed to come to the game. He hated crowds. Leaning over the basin, his eyes focusing keenly on the crack down the mirror, he splashed cold water on his face. He looked up at his reflection and shuddered.

Outside again, Reid fought his way back to the stands and scanned the multitude of faces for the ones he recognized. Finally catching a glimpse of Emily Prentiss' dark curls, he edged his slim frame through the seats and took his own.

"You okay?" Derek Morgan asked, shouting to be heard despite the mere inches between his face and Reid's. He nodded. The noise of the crowd swelled briefly as someone on the striped pitch below came close to the goal, then faded again as the ball was kicked back into safety. Reid watched the undulating shadows on the turf as clouds swept across the path of the sun, trying to shut out the noise and the way the corpulent woman behind him kept nudging him in the small of his back with her foot.

He smiled at Prentiss as she leaned across Morgan, holding out a grease-stained paper packet of hot chips. Reid waved it away, trying to keep the nauseated expression off his face as the thought of the chips nearly made him gag.

This definitely wasn't his thing. He could understand how Prentiss, JJ and Morgan could like it, but his phobia of crowds made it difficult for him to enjoy himself at the football. Prentiss had her hair tied up for the occasion; it looked nice pulled back from her face, the odd strand straying in front of her eyes. She wore a blue and red striped shirt supporting the home team, and the unusually bold colours suited her. Reid caught himself thinking this and almost laughed aloud. Five years ago now, Reid had discovered that Emily loved him and he hadn't returned the feeling; he'd never looked at her the same since. He still didn't _love_ her, not romantically. He'd just begun to appreciate a little more how beautiful she was.

Now she caught him staring at her and grinned, unconsciously tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears. He smiled back and shrugged apologetically, to show her he meant nothing. As they looked at each other, a red-and-blue clad player streaked across the pitch and neatly booted the ball into the goal.

The stadium exploded. Before Reid knew what had happened, Morgan was on his feet, cheering, and the woman's expansive belly behind him was pressing into his head. Prentiss blushed and joined Morgan and JJ now standing on their seats with their arms above their heads. Reid reluctantly joined them too.

It was typical, really, that his phone chose the moment the stadium was loudest to go off. He dug it out of his pocket, intending to flick it off and put it away, but his eyes caught the caller ID: Hotch.

He answered it. "Sir?" he yelled, his loudest barely breaking through the screams of encouragement. He blocked his other ear, but it didn't help.

"Reid? Where are you?" Reid glanced around at the others. Prentiss was now giving him a concerned look.

"I'm at the football with the others, Hotch, sorry about the noise," he shouted.

"It's okay, but something's come up. I'm going to need you all here, yesterday." Reid felt his face fall. There were a lot of places he'd rather be than here, but the Bureau wasn't really one of them. Not now.

"Yes, sir. See you soon."

* * *

I lifted my hand to the door, but hesitated. The plate was dull and old-looking, but it wasn't the sheen that disturbed me. It was the name.

_David Rossi._ No longer _Jason Gideon_. It was stupid to think that nothing would have changed. I knew it was. But – Gideon? Gideon was the Rock, the Hard Place, the driving force behind the team. What else had changed? Would I be entering a cold, grey shadow of the place I had once known? My hand faltered slightly in front of the door. Five years. A lot could change in five years. What was it about the BAU that made me want to run away and hide in a corner somewhere?

I had no choice. I had applied for a transfer into VICAP thinking that they would defer me straight into CASMIRC. But I'd been accepted into the BAU. Now there was no going back. I knocked on the door and it swung open. A small man with floppy grey hair dismissed me with a smile, then looked back at me and frowned. "Juliette Clearwater?" I nodded. His smile returned and he held out a hand. "David Rossi." I took the hand and shook it genially. "I must admit I hadn't expected you to look so young…"

I smiled embarrassedly. He wasn't the first person to tell me I didn't look twenty-three. "And _I_ must admit I'd hoped to see a different name on your door." I elaborated hurriedly as he looked nonplussed. "I did a case with this team about five years go. This office belonged to Jason Gideon."

Rossi's busy face cleared. "Agent Gideon took personal time about five years ago. They called me in when he didn't come back. You must have just caught him."

_Personal time._ "I'm glad I did," I commented. "So what else has changed in five years?"

Rossi appeared to contemplate the question. "Did you know Agent Jareau?"

"JJ? Yeah." I remembered the kind, bubbly blonde. Had the Bureau broken her, like it appeared to have broken Gideon?

"She left a while back to have her baby. She's being treated like a newbie, too; she only came back about six weeks ago."

"Oh." Rossi nodded. There was a slightly awkward silence. Then I voiced the question I hadn't wanted answered. "Spencer Reid's still here, isn't he?"

"Dr. Reid? Oh, yes. I can't imagine him leaving." I relaxed slightly. "They should be here soon. We should…"he gestured at the door to the glass briefing room.

"Thank you for accepting me, sir," I said quickly. "I'd expected to be shoved straight into CASMIRC – Agent Hotchner and I had some… differences."

David Rossi's impressive eyebrows lowered over his eyes in confusion. "I didn't accept you, Clearwater. Hotch asked for you specially."

I had been moving towards the door; now I stopped. Hotch _requested_ me? But he didn't like me, I remembered him saying it several times. I let out a weak 'oh' and entered the briefing room.

As I entered through one door, at exactly the same moment, the door at the opposite end opened and Morgan caught sight of me. "Holy –" he said, but he didn't stop there. He came fully into the room to allow Prentiss to step through the door after him. She, too, stopped dead.

"Oh, my…" The beginnings of a smile twitched onto my face at their faces, but was prevented from growing by the person that followed her into the briefing room. A man I hadn't seen in almost five years. A man I kicked myself every day for not calling. A man whose dark eyes widened and sweet mouth fell open as he saw me through the gaping distance of the room.

Spencer Reid.

* * *

**A/N: If you're new to my stories, you won't know that I'm like a puppy; if you review my stories, I love you forever. Just like being rubbed on the tummy. It also greatly increases the possibility of me reading and consequently reviewing (because I'm a good girl and I review every story I read even when I don't like it) your work in turn. Thanks to _chocolate fish_ for the beta and the park bench **(The awesome awesome grasslees park bench.)**. Oh, and the pen I used to scribble down the first draft of Tabby and Peter and poor little Horsie. Lots of platonic love to Ivan Andrews and his serial-killer rape face which I caught myself unconsciously imitating to my younger brother. It's the haircut, love. Evil eyes to whoever wrote the book with DC Pete Dawson in it; you totally stole my character. If you're an old buddy of mine, I'm afraid I have no new books to steal the signature from and then recommend. **

**I'll refrain from signing off **_**love and kisses, Johnson. **_Chocolate fish** will understand why. The rest of you will very soon be illuminated. Very very soon. I've come to enjoy holing myself up in a corner with my laptop. The joy of portable technology.**

**-for you!**


	2. Heroes

**A/N: Sorry it's taken so long. Here it is. Chapter two. I haven't watched CM in a while and am definitely not up to date with what might be happening five years from **_**Draw Me A Star **_**so don't criticise, but any other reviews are not only appreciated but demanded. Also, my beta is AWOL and I can't be bothered contacting so I apologise in advance for any issues.**

**Enjoy.**

**-for you**

* * *

He had that look on his face. That one I still recognised, even now. The look he used to get when he was trying to be sympathetic. The vulnerable look.

It made my heart melt. He walked towards me, ever so slowly, as though in a dream, and stopped in front of me. I tried to think of something to say, something that would explain why he didn't know I was coming; why he didn't know I'd made it into DC Area three years ago; why he didn't even know I'd been accepted into first-semester training barely two months after I'd applied. But nothing came to mind. "Hi," I said lamely.

"Hi," he replied. I glanced back at JJ, who gave me a huge smile and the thumbs-up. I didn't smile back.

"Spencer, I'm sorry,' I said awkwardly. "I should have called. I _meant_ to call, every day I thought _I should call Reid_, but I was never near a phone… that's no excuse. I know it's not. I'm sorry." I ducked my head and waited for his verdict.

Deep down, of course, I knew he'd forgive me. _He_ hadn't called _me _either. And he looked exactly the same – I couldn't imagine him ever holding a grudge. "I'm sorry too," he said, then pulled me into a clumsy embrace. "I'm sorry I never asked how training was going. I'm sorry I asked Garcia to check if you got in instead of just calling you. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," I whispered. Rossi coughed politely and we let each other go.

"I take it you all know Juliette Clearwater, then," he said happily. I grinned at JJ. "Everyone acquainted? Good. Let's head to the airstrip."

"I'd forgotten about the jet," I remarked. Spencer laughed.

I swung around as the door opened. Aaron Hotchner stepped through it. "Ah, Clearwater," he said briskly, collecting a brown-paper file from the sandalwood table. "Good to see you again. Are we leaving?"

"Are you serious?" Hotch turned to face me, along with everyone else in the room. "Good to see you? Really?"

He gave me a serious smile. "Really, Clearwater. I don't see why that should come as such a surprise. I'll rephrase myself. Welcome to the team, Agent Clearwater. Now get on the jet. We're going to New York."

* * *

Spencer Reid enjoyed the plane ride considerably more than usual with Paramore's _You Are the Only Exception_ playing softly from headphones plugged one in Juliette's ear an the other in JJ's. A contented feeling left him unusually idle while the nagging, guilty feeling he'd had for the last few _years_ had gone and Juliette was there.

"So what have you been doing with your life, then?" he asked. She smiled.

"Apart from working my way here? Feeling guilty about not calling you. And…" her face twisted into a beautific smile. "I'm engaged."

Reid felt his eyebrows skyrocket. "To whom?"

"Remember Andrew?"

"The doctor?" he hesitated slightly. "The one who was dating Charisse?"

Juliette's eyes flickered, but otherwise her face remained normal at the mention of her convicted best friend's name. "Yeah. We stayed friends and then one thing led to another, I guess." She looked past JJ to the window.

"Wow," Reid said. "Congratulations." She grinned at him, then here face slackened again.

"I still visit Char sometimes. She's… sometimes she's the old Charisse, the one I loved, and sometimes I can't believe she ever was that person."

Reid didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Hotch chose that moment to sit down beside him and throw the case file down onto the table.

"We're dealing with a tiny serial killer unit of the NYPD, headed by Anthony Henzell. Their unsub left a woman in the middle of a public park, with..." he sighed and flipped open the file. Reid grimaced. The woman had dark hair and was curvy but not chubby. Her arms were red and raw and her hair tangled and wild. She was naked and her breasts had been carefully patterned in blood, and on her delicate forehead, the unsub had drawn an intricate, almost beautiful butterfly, its body trailing down her nose, its huge, sweeping wings spread right across her forehead.

But what was making Reid grimace was the deep lines scored into the woman's stomach, blood trailing sickly from the ends. They were carefully arranged to form an open grid, two parallel lines downwards crossed by two horizontal ones. In the gaps between the lines, in each little square, was ritually gouged a circle or a cross. "Tic-tac-toe," JJ breathed in horror. "He's playing tic-tac-toe on their bodies." Three crosses in a diagonal row were scored out by one thick line. Hotch nodded slowly.

"Autopsy found a crazy cocktail of drugs in her blood. Diazepalm, acetaminophen, succinylcholine, benzylpiperazine." Reid looked over at Juliette; a slight puzzled expression cleared as she decoded the drugs into valium, painkiller, paralytic and hallucinogen. "High levels of natural stress toxins, _and _she went missing ten days before they found her. Detective Henzell thought it would be best to call us before a second victim was taken."

"That's a nice change," JJ said lightly. "Usually they wait for the fourth or fifth victim before we get pulled out."

"Well, they had a dead giveaway that this guy was going to be serial," Hotch commented, turning the photo over to reveal another. "This was pinned to her navel."

The photo depicted a small piece of flowery notepaper with, written in pink ink that looked as though it came from some sort of fountain pen, were the words, _Your Move_. Below them, with the 'o's and the dots above the 'i's shaped like little hearts, read _Love and Kisses, Johnson._

_Kisses. _"Did they find any DNA on her?" Reid asked quickly. "Lip prints? Saliva?"

"Only the victim's," Hotch replied. "P30 came back negative too. No sign of any sexual activity, despite the signature."

"It's just a game," Morgan hazarded, "They do it because of us. Because of NYPD. Because of the game."

"So we don't give them a game, right?" Juliette interjected. "We do this quietly. Don't let them know we're coming."

"As much as we can," Hotch agreed. "But by the sounds of things, it's not going to be easy."

* * *

NYPD offices were a lot smaller than the Bureau, but I'd expected that. We were greeted at the airstrip by Henzell, a short, chubby, irritable man who wasted no time showing us his office. He picked up the phone. "I'll call everyone in." A tall, lanky woman appeared at the door and smiled, not a warm friendly smile, but formal, empty. "This is Detective Bond," Henzell introduced.

I couldn't help it. "Bond?" I asked.

She smiled again. "My brother's in the secret service." JJ and I laughed, while the rest of the team smiled appreciatively. Henzell glared at us as though we had just started spitting on his carpet. I stopped abruptly.

"Cherophobe," I muttered under my breath. Henzell began to talk into the phone. Prentiss heard me and snorted, then hurriedly covered it with a sniff. The resulting noise was quite comical; JJ glanced at Prentiss and giggled and soon everyone was laughing: even Hotch gave more than his usual wan smile. I just caught Henzell's last words before he put the phone down.

"You'll like them. I don't understand what they're laughing about either."

Prentiss heard it too; an exchanged glance set us all off in hysterics again like ten year-old girls. Detective Bond laughed in that way you do when you're not sure why you're doing it.

When we'd all calmed down, the next ten minutes were spent on idle discussion of the case, the flight, the office, the BAU's history, anything mundane while we waited for the other two members of the task force. Suddenly I sat up, hearing a door close somewhere in the building and a young woman's laugh.

"Finally," I said aside to Emily, "someone with a sense of humor."

* * *

"I wanted to join the FBI, you know," Tabby told Peter in his old Mustang on the way back to the station. "After I read that book. _Black Sunday_. The one by the guy who wrote _Silence of the Lambs_. That's how I ended up here."

Peter snorted derisively. That's how you ended up _here?_ Because you read a book about the BAU? Why didn't you join the FBI, then?"

Tabby looked away out the window. "I wanted to," she admitted. "But I didn't feel comfortable leaving Mom." She dwelled for a moment on how weak that statement sounded. "You know, with lymphoma," she added quickly. There was a brief silence, then she punched him on the arm. "I never would have met you."

"Thanks," Peter said, slightly sarcastically. "I hear the BAU's not that great, though."

"What do you mean?"

"They have real problems with funding. I don't know. Someone said there was someone high up had a grudge against the head of the BAU. And a few years back they were nearly disbanded... they had problems with staffing, a few people left and their tech analyst was shot or something. They're lucky to be here."

"Hey, at least they _have_ a tech analyst," Tabby reasoned. Peter shrugged in acknowledgement. But the image of them in her mind changed to a cold, grey, sad bunch of people.

They walked in the door, Tabby listening hard. In trouble or not, the Behavioural Analysis Unit were her heroes. To her surprise, the first sound she heard was laughter.

She entered the room un-dramatically, unusually self-conscious, and stood aside for Peter. The group seated around the table stopped laughing and turned to face the newcomers. Henzell, looking oddly disgruntled, stood up quickly. "This is Detective Licroft and Detective Rundle. And that's all of us."

The dark-haired, serious-looking man at the fromt of the table stood up and offered Tabby his hand. "I'm Agent Hotcher. This is Agent Rossi," Tabby leaned across him to shake hads with a petite, busy-faced older man, "Agent Jareau," a blonde woman with bright eyes grinned, "Prentiss," a curvy, attractive brunette smiled boldly, "Morgan," a dark-skinned, muscular young man held out his hand amicably, "Clearwater," Agent Clearwater was the youngest of all of them, and she smiled at Tabby as though they were old friends, "and Dr. Reid."

Tabby had to walk right around the table to shake hands with the doctor. He was young and wiry, the curves of his stomach retreating shyly back towards his spine rather than protruding outwards. Limp, dirty-blonde hair curled slightly under his ears and his dark, innocent eyes hid behind big, geeky glasses. He had a haunted, vulnerable look about him, an open-ness and innocence that made Tabby warm to him straight away. His hand in hers was soft and warm and she felt her face flush at his touch.

_Oh, dear_, she thought as she let him go and went back to stand beside Peter. Her eyes stayed locked on Reid's for a while and then she dropped them hurriedly. _You're falling already._

She sat down beside Bond and busied herself flicking through the file on the table in front of her. It had nothing to tell her that she didn't know already; she'd helped Bond put it together. Henzell spread the case photos out, facing the end of the table occupied by the BAU.

"Right, well, you know as much as we do at the moment. He dumped the body in the middle of the park, not in a bush or under a hedge like people normally do. She was carefully positioned so that her wounds were displayed to the best advantage. It was all done with the utmost care and precision. This guy doesn't appear to be the least bit scared of us."

Agent Hotchner pulled his own copy of the file from a bag under his chair. He leafed through it until he found the picture of the note. "So, the guy calls himself Johnson," he said slowly. Reid reached over him and tugged the picture out of his hand.

"It's very carefully written. I'd say the unsub doesn't usually write like this, with all the hearts and stuff. He's trying very hard to create a specific impression that he's something he's not. If –"

Tabby couldn't help cutting him off, even though she'd been watching his pale lips intently as he spoke. "Are you sure it's a 'he'? The signature is so feminine. And the butterfly, and the P30..."

Dr. Reid smiled loosely, but didn't miss a heartbeat before replying. "I think that's part of the impression he's trying to create. I think he wants us to _think_ it's a woman, to lead us on the wrong track. He's a control freak who enjoys feeding people lies and watching them run around in circles because of it, and he wants o try this kick on a bigger scale. The actual killing isn't what gives him the high. It's playing with us, the unreal danger that we might catch him, the high when we don't. The feeling of superiority because we have no idea who it is. He wouldn't do anything unless he was totally sure of the outcome, and he's very, very smart."

Tabby sat back, amazed by the flood of information pouring at such speed from the young man's mouth. Henzell appeared to feel the same. "You got all that from six words? Holy –"

"Dr. Reid's a geek. He does that stuff all the time. You're lucky you can understand what he's saying, it took me a while before I could speed up by brain so I could process his speech patterns in time." Reid shot a mock-hurt face at Clearwater, who had spoken. She grinned and punched him lightly on the arm. Tabby quashed a flicker of jealousy; maybe the two were dating? But Clearwater hardly looked older than twenty, while Reid must have been around Tabby's own age, twenty-seven.

Henzell, as usual, ignored the joke and turned back to Agent Hotchner, who looked to be in charge of the unit. "We called you because the note seemed to be directed at us rather than anyone in the victim's family. We've interviewed the family anyway, and her flatmate. Anyone we could find in connection to the victim. There's nothing."

"How many hospitals are there in the area?" Dr. Reid cut in again. Henzell looked at him irritatedly.

"Three. Detectives Licroft and Rundle just came from them." He looked at Peter expectantly, but Tabby was oddly eager to impress the BAU, especially Dr. Reid.

"The only surgical drug found in the victim's blood was succinylcholine, the paralytic. None of the hospitals reported back with lower stocks than expected."

She watched as his eyes narrowed critically. "Okay. That means he's getting it from somewhere else. It doesn't look from the wounds like he had medical experience. Maybe a friend or some kind of contact could get it for him."

"That kind of thing is hard to pass off as harmless home use," Peter said, obviously not quite keeping up with the quick, precise speech. He almost flinched as Reid's mouth opened again.

"Which means –"

"He's not working alone," Tabby completed, mentally high-fiving herself for interrupting at the right place and managing to sound intelligent. Dr. Reid nodded, smiling gently at her.

"Or he's getting it illegally," the dark-skinned Agent Morgan chipped in smoothly. At a glance from Hotchner, a phone was raised to his ear. "Garcia? Hey, baby-cheeks. We've got a guy who might be smuggling succinylcholine through a contact or – yes. You're an angel, baby."

Tabby guessed Morgan was talking to the fabled Technical Analyst. She let her eyes lapse back to Dr. Reid, running smoothly over his soft, dark eyes and the geeky glasses folding and unfolding in his hands.

Peter nudged her under the table and she snapped her eyes on him. He slid his police-issue notebook across the mahogany surface. She glanced down at it and felt her face reddening.

_I should have known you'd fall for someone here. You're practically drooling over the geeky guy._

She shot Peter a glare and put her own pen to the paper. _Hey, don't judge. Some of us here haven't been happily married for five years._

Peter snorted. _Probably for the best._ She resisted the urge to shove him and settled instead for jumping on his foot, which he appeared, in all his bukl and muscle, not to notice. Tabby sat up straight again as Morgan put the phone down.

"There's an internet drug site shipping in clinical and surgical drugs but Garcia can't find the list. She emailed the guy but we'll have to wait for a reply."

"Thanks, Morgan," Hotchner said, but he didn't smile.

Bond leant surreptitiously closer to Tabby. "He's hot," she whispered. Tabby tried not to react too obviously, but she turned to look at the detective.

"Who?"

Bond made a head-jerk towards the muscled agent. "Morgan," she hissed. Tabby grinned. Agent Rossi, in his first show of vocality, stood up.

"Can you take us to the scene?"

Henzell was about to reply when the phone in the office behind them rang. Bond excused herself to get it and Henzell followed Rossi in standing up. "Of course. Licroft?" Tabby looked up sharply. "Car?"

"Broken, sir," she replied, mimicking his abrupt style. Peter snorted; he knew the blue Stag was running fine.

"It got weighed down with too much crap in the back seat," he muttered. She elbowed him. Henzell frowned.

"Bond?" she gave him a 'not-now' wave and turned back to the phone. Tabby tried an angelic smile.

"We'll have to use yours, sir," she said innocently. Henzell scowled.

"We won't all fit in mine," he snarled. Tabby smothered a smirk at how easy he was to wind up. Peter gave him a pacifying look and intervened gracefully.

"Well, half of us can go in mine, apologies in advance for the mess, and the other half can go in Henzell's, and anyone left over can take Bond's. I'm sure she brought it in this morning." Tabby grinned at him.

Bond put down the phone and re-entered the room. "That was the Missing Persons division, checking up on our victim's appearance. They'll let us know if anyone else turns up. Are we going? I can take people in my car. I hear Tabby crashed hers again."

* * *

It was quite amusing, watching Spencer's face colour when Detective Licroft was caught staring at him for the third time. I'd watched him pretty closely when he found out Prentiss liked him, but this was something else entirely. Maybe, I tried to tell myself, it was just because Licroft was a _stranger_ who seemed fascinated by him that made him blush. Or maybe he actually liked her.

She was pretty, deep and soulful brown eyes framed by lightly-tanned skin and chicly-cut hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She didn't look as though she was wearing any makeup, either, her clear skin pure and childish, looking as though she'd just gracefully hauled herself out of bed. She had a good sense of humour, or so I gathered from the brief conversation we'd had. She seemed like my kind of person and I quickly volunteered Spencer and I to join her and Detective Rundle in his old Mustang.

Rundle was a solid man with broad shoulders and a barrel-chest. He had kind, crinkly eyes and a huge smile and I warmed to him immediately.

"So," I said conversationally as Spencer and I clicked into the back seat, "Henzell seems pretty... wooden?"

Licroft laughed. "Understatement," she said. "I'm Tabby, by the way. I hate it when people only use my last name to address me. Like Henzell."

"He probably hates it too," I replied lightly. "I'm Juliette. I don't mind it. You get used to it in the FBI."

Tabby turned around in her seat to face us. She punched Rundle on the arm again. "This is Peter. Don't talk to him while he's driving. He's not too bright."

I saw the beginnings of a wry smile on Rundle's face in the rear-view mirror, but he said nothing. I glanced at Spencer. He twitched a grin at me. I took this as an invitation. "This is Spencer, but I'm the only one I've ever heard call him that. Everyone else just calls him Reid."

Tabby smiled at him, and he smiled back, and once again I saw something in their smiles, something more than two strangers getting along. I glanced at Rundle, hoping he'd seen it too and I could share some kind of glance with him, but he kept his hazel eyes resolutely fixed on the road. I tried not to scowl, and instead turned the conversation to our destination.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so it's taken a while, I've had computer issues followed by homework followed by other inspiration (which I'll be uploading before the next chapter, so don't hold your breath) and this has just sat there in my notebook, staring at me every Legal Studies lesson. Anyway – review or my hate-vibes will float through the ether and get you. I mean, you won't be able to sleep at night. It's Nightmare on Elm Street material, with the tongue and the arms and everything. So watch out. And just review. Tabby/Reid – you like? No? What about Bond/****Morgan? I'm not sure about that one. Don't think it'll work out. And any ideas for plot/climax? I have a few keepers, but nothing definite.**

**Thanks!**

**-for you**


End file.
